Deadline

“I was told that you’re covering the trial for the magazine.”

“I’m covering the trial for myself. It’s a compelling story, start to finish.” He didn’t have time to pussyfoot around or spare Gleason’s inflated ego. He laid it out there. “The way things stand now, the story will end with Willard Strong going to death row.”

Gleason took exception, which Dawson had anticipated. He talked over the attorney’s sputtered protests. “Which will be a tragic miscarriage of justice, because your client is innocent.”

That stopped the spate of objections. Dawson raised his eyebrows as though asking permission to continue. Curtly, Gleason bobbed his head.

“Willard was framed for his wife’s murder.”

“What makes you think so, Mr. Scott?”

“I’m not prepared to divulge that.”

Gleason looked disappointed, then put out. “You’re trying to pull a fast one, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Did you try to get an interview with Lem Jackson, too? Did you tell him you think we wasted the state’s money on a trial, that Willard is as guilty as sin and should have gone straight to prison?”

“No.”

“But you’ll admit that an interview with my client would embellish the story you intend to write.”

“Damn straight it will. But by letting me talk to him, you’d be doing him a favor as well as me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me how it could benefit him.”

“You mean in addition to setting him free instead of condemning him to death?” Dawson didn’t expect a reply, and Gleason didn’t bother to make one. “Your client has a major PR problem. Even if he isn’t a killer, he looks like one. He carried a massive chip on his shoulder into the courtroom each day. Then you put him in the witness box and suddenly he’s earnest, woebegone, pathetic. A man trying to save his life would be expected to have a change of heart and become more humble, but I don’t think the jury bought Willard’s sincerity.”

“You can’t influence the jurors’ perception of him. They won’t have access to anything you write.”

“True.”

“Then—”

“I can possibly change the course of the trial. But first you must let me talk to him. Only then can I help Willard help himself.”

“Helping him is my job.”

“With all due respect, you’re failing.”

Again, the ego reared. “The jury’s not in yet, Mr. Scott.”

“The odds for an acquittal are slim to none. Admit it.”

He admitted nothing, but he said, “Give me another reason why this is a good idea.”

“Unless there’s a major upset, something like a mistrial, he’ll be convicted.”

“I’m not conceding the point. But if he is convicted, I’ll immediately file for an appeal.”

“Your appeal could coincide with a national magazine story slanted in Willard’s favor.”

“You’d do that? You’d write it that way?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”